Vanessa leaned back against me in the bath as I played casually with her soapy nipples. She turned her head and kissed me lightly on the lips.

"Isn't this bliss?" she sighed.

"I love bathing you," I said, "but I can't wait to dress you too. I love the feeling of looking after all of your body's needs."

"All of my body's needs?" laughed Vanessa. "Next you'll be wanting to wipe my arse for me after I take a shit. Hey, I felt your cock twitch. Don't tell me that thought turns you on."

"It's a bit of a worry," I admitted, "but everything about you turns me on. Even that. I've never felt this way about anyone else before."

"Well I think I would rather take care of that for myself, if you don't mind," Vanessa replied. "But I must admit I am looking forward to having you dress me."

"I never want you to have to dress or undress yourself again," I told her. "I want to be the one to do that for you always. Wrapping you and unwrapping you each day like a present to myself."

"Your such a sweet-heart," she said. "And sweet-hearts deserve to have their cock's sucked."

She stood up, giving me a delicious view of her dripping wet bottom, pink from the warmth of the water, and turned around. I knelt up, resting my weight on my arms against the sides of the bath, so that my cock emerged from the warm water. She bent down and gently took it in her mouth. I loved the way she slurped noisily while she sucked, and used both hands to gently stroke and play with my stiffness as she licked around its head with her pink tongue. When I came it was deep within her mouth and she swallowed my seed hungrily.

We dried each other playfully with big fluffy bath-towels, before making our way into the wardrobe.

"What do you want to see me in?" Vanessa asked.

"I want to see you in everything you own," I answered, enthusiastically..

"What? All at once? I don't think that's possible," she protested, facetiously.

"No. One at a time. And all the different combinations," I explained.

"Well, that will have to wait until later," she said. "For now let's just choose something practical. Undies first."

She led me over to a series of drawers which contained jumbled piles of panties and bras and shifts and teddies and all manner of frilly undergarments. I chose a pair of pale yellow cotton panties and knelt to help her put them on. As she stepped into them, I leant forward and placed my lips briefly on her curly red pubes.

"See you later," I sighed as I gently pulled the panties up tight over her crotch.

Then I chose a matching bra. Standing behind her, I helped Vanessa to put her arms into it and then scooped her soft, warm breasts up with my hands while she placed the cups under them, and then I fastened it behind her back. My recently satisfied cock began to swell once more with the sensuality of these actions.

"Now for a dress," she said. "What about this one?"

She held up a knee-length summer dress made of light cotton and decorated with a pattern of colourful hibiscus.

"Perfect," I said. She stepped into it and I pulled it up and placed its straps over her shoulders, to each of which I gave a tender kiss, before slowly buttoning it up at the back.

"I have lots of stockings and shoes," she explained. "But for today I prefer to stay barefoot. So now I'm dressed, how do you like me?"

"Every minute I fall in love with you anew," I sighed.

"Your hopeless," she smile, shaking her head. "Now lets get the dinner made. People who do as much fucking as we do, need our sustenance."

"I wouldn't want to make a mess on your dress," I said, "but I won't be able to relax and eat with this hard-on."

"That's O.K.," she replied. "I'll put on a show for you, while you jerk off."

I lay down on the bed and grasped my dick firmly with my right hand. As I began to masturbate, Vanessa started dancing for me, lifting her dress slowly to show me some leg, bending down to reveal a little cleavage, pushing her ass towards me and flashing her panties quickly, all with an air of naughtiness that made me forget that I had already seen her naked.

"You don't have to do that," I told her. "Now I realise that your smile, the twinkle in your eyes, your soft sexy voice, are even sexier than your naked body. Why don't you just sit down on the end of the bed and be with me. I couldn't admit this to you before, but sometimes in my five years on the island, I used to get so lonely. I wouldn't have lived anywhere else, but even in paradise a guy can get lonely. When I did, I would go down onto the beach and lie on the sand and masturbate. I would think of all the women I had known and the all the actresses I had lusted after at the movies when I was a teenager. But that was all just in my head. In the end I was just a lonely guy jerking off. You don't know what it means to me to have you here with me now while I do what I did then. It is almost as if you can soothe away the past pain, so that I really wasn't alone all those times when a lay there on the beach. Because you are here now, you were there then, smiling enigmatically like a guardian angel, knowing the pleasure you would deliver when the time was right."

"I love watching you masturbate," she sighed, sitting down on the end of the bed. "That goofy smile you get on your face, the way you play with your nipples with your free hand, totally caught up in the sensuality of it all. I love seeing just how stiff your dick gets." By this time she could see that her words were beginning to drive me into a frenzy. "Slow down and take your time. That's it David. I want to have time to talk to you about what you're doing. You're playing with your stiff cock, just like every other horny guy since the dawn of time has played with his stiff cock. Mostly they were doing it because there was no girl around who was willing to fuck them or suck them. It was the next best thing. But you have a girl to fuck you and suck you. Anytime you want me to fuck you or to suck your cock, I'll do it. You know that.

"But I'll also sit and talk to you and smile at you while you wank yourself off. And from the way that you're grinning, I think you realise that that can be just as much fun. I love it when you watch me pleasure myself, too. There is a special intimacy about it. About doing in someone else's presence, something which we normally only do alone. You're about to cum now, aren't you. I can tell by the way your speeding up. I love seeing you spurt. There is something about a hard, spurting cock which is just so much fun. I wonder how far you'll shoot your spunk. I reckon they should have a new competition in the Olympic Games called the long-spurt. All these hunky, spunky, muscly-type guys would stand in a row. Then when I flashed my pussy at them they would pull down their shorts and grab their hard cocks. While I provided the inspiration by waving my cute little butt at them, they would all jerk themselves off. Then I would get out my measuring tape and see who went the furthest. There could be two variations, the long-spurt and the high-spurt. The high-spurt would be where they stand individually in front of my completely nude body and see how high up it they can splat me with their spunk."

Vanessa collapsed in a giggling heap when she saw me cum with such force that the first of several jets of hot liquid hit me squarely in the face.

"Yuck," I said, wiping it off with the back of my hand.

"Serves you right for all the times you've done that to me," Vanessa crowed. "Anyway, with a bit more practise, I think you could almost make the Olympic long-spurt championship."

"What's the prize for the winner?" I asked.

"An all night fucking session with the sexiest girl in the whole world," she explained enthusiastically.

"So you want one of those hunky, spunky guys all to yourself for the night?" I asked.

"I'm not the sexiest girl in the whole world," Vanessa protested. "You've just been on this island so long that you've forgotten just how sexy a girl can be. And you're biased by the fact that I like sucking your cock, and fucking you, and having a bath with you, and because I let you watch me play with my pussy."

"Well, all I can say," I said, "is that, if you were any sexier, you would make guys dicks spontaneously combust in their pants."

"You really are a sweety when it comes to complements," she replied. "Now go into the bathroom and clean yourself up so that you can help me make dinner."

Once I had showered and dried myself off with a towel, I joined Vanessa in the kitchen and began helping her to cut up vegetables. I was still completely naked and Vanessa was, of course, still conservatively dressed. There was something about the contrast between her modesty and my nakedness, and the acceptance and comfort between us that it somehow symbolized to me that filled my heart with a generous warmth. This warmth of course spread also to my cock, but luckily, for the moment, it was satiated and did not become erect, but just swelled somewhat, contibuting to an easy, overall feeling of sensuality.

"I want to tell you the truth about why I came to the island," I told her, the easy intimacy that had now developed between us putting me in a confessional mood.

"Of course," she said, sensing my seriousness.

"You know from seeing my paintings that the beauty of women has always been one of my biggest inspirations. At art school, my still-lifes and landscapes, though technically proficient, were never inspired. But when the subject was a nude woman, usually one of my fellow students, no more than eighteen or nineteen years old, the sight of her naked innocence, as it seemed to me, who could not see what might lie within, filled me with rapturous delight and I understood what William Blake meant when he said that 'the nudity of women [was] the work of God.' It also gave me a hard-on, but in those days that was by the by. I was young and naive back then and it was my heart and not my dick that ruled my life. Women were my inspiration and it was my nudes that made my name.

"But over the years, as much as I loved women in general, I loved no woman in particular. I fucked around plenty. The women were always available to a guy in my line of work, with my sort of income, and beautiful women at that. I always fell in love with their bodies, and paid tribute to those beautiful bodies as much with my cock as with my paintbrush. But once I got to know the woman within the body, I soon lost interest. They were young and shallow, and self-absorbed because of their beauty. They didn't see their beauty as something sacred like I did, they saw it as something they could cash in for money or power or the attention that they, like the rest of us, never got enough of in childhood, and would hunger for for the rest of their lives. We had little in common, but they were selling and I was buying.

"In my disillusionment I eventually turned away from eroticism as an influence. When I found that life did not live up to my idealistic expectations, I confused the reflection of the moon on the water with the moon itself, and abandoned it as superficial.

From that point on, I began to equate the ugly, the unpleasant and the tragic as authentic, and all else as irrelevant. It was during this period that I shared my loft with an old bag-lady who had nowhere else to go. I painted 300 portraits of her. Not surprisingly none of them sold. Eventually I caught her stealing from me. Something that my own dwindling income didn't allow me to tolerate. I kicked her out and found her lying dead in a doorway two days later.

"Oh, no," Vanessa said, by this time we had given up on cooking for the moment, and had sat down on the end of her bed.

"I don't really remember what happened after that. Not right after. It's all just a jumble. I remember not going out of my loft for weeks on end. Days spent cowering in bed, fearful of a swirling darkness that seemed to be closing in on me inexorably. Most of my friends from the art world deserted me, now that I could no longer be a part of their world of openings and cocktail parties. Those that would have helped me, I fucked off with my obnoxious behaviour. As far as I was concerned the world was a sewer, and polite human behaviour about as useful to it as a stick of deodorant.

"It wasn't long of course before I couldn't keep up the rent on the loft and I was evicted.

"That was the strangest day of my life. I hadn't eaten for several days... I had no money. I didn't know what I was going to do. I went to Central Park and sat down under a tree to think about what I should do. But my mind was restless and couldn't consider any single aspect of my situation for more than a few seconds. The only way to cope was not to let it sink in.

"Eventually the sun went down and the stars came out. It must have been cold, but somehow I was too numb to feel it. I looked around at the skyscapers towering above me, tiny humans scuttling about in their lit-up windows. Life was moving on without me. But it wasn't really life, it was just meaningless activity. Like ants that don't yet realise that their nest has been destroyed, the people of the city bustled about their futile existence unaware that meaning and purpose were dead, and that the great march of life, which had started two billion years before when matter itself began to take control of its own destiny, and which had seen the rise and fall of the dinosaurs, and more recently the rise and fall of civilizations, and had entailed suffering and struggle beyond the capacity of the human brain to comprehend, had ended at last in a world, which it seemed to me then, was peopled by robots. "Have a nice day," their voices chimed musically, as their dead eyes looked through you.

"'I've lost everything,' I thought to myself, 'but at least I can see now what is real and what is not. What if everyone lost everything. Then there might be some hope for us. Some basis to start from.'

"'There's plenty of energy there,' I realised, as I watched all the activity taking place around me. 'It's just misdirected. If we worked with each other, instead of against each other, we could build paradise. Instead we fight our own lonely little battles, and then we die, like I probably will tonight, or tomorrow night or sometime soon.'

"'Why did I never think this before?' I wondered. 'The world is the same now as it was six months ago, when I was a successful artist. But now I see it for what it really is and then I was just one of the robots. It is as if I was asleep and now I have woken up. That's it. We are all sleepwalkers, just waiting for something, or someone, to wake us up.'

"This was the more or less rational part of what went through my head that night. Gradually a sense of unadulterated certainty, like nothing that I had ever experienced before in this uncertain world, took possession of my brain that this night would be my last night on earth, but that the dawn of the following day would see the end of the robot world, and a genuine awakening for the rest of humanity. Buried within each robot brain was a hidden program, the last one it would ever need, a program of healthful self-destruction. Once the program was activated it would make what arrangements were necessary in the world for its own eventually demise and the concurrent reflowering of organic humanity.

"Since I was sure that I would be dead by dawn, I didn't have long to carry out my own program. I had no doubt about what I had to do. My clothes represented the artificial world and nakedness was the organic humanity beneath. Quickly I stripped off my clothes. Not only didn't I feel the coldness of the night air, but I could swear that I was getting hotter. It was then that I knew how I would meet my demise. The vision of the new world coming carried with it an energy that was too great for any man to bear. This energy would literally turn his body to flame, a flame that would light the way for the rest of humanity, each individual having only a partial understanding of what was happening.

"With a speed that seemed superhuman to me, I ran naked through the streets, yelling at all the bemused faces around me, 'Wake up! Wake up! The time has come!'

"Of course I didn't spontaneously combust at dawn. When the sun came up the next day, I was strapped to a bed and a man in a white uniform was asking me if I knew what day it was. The certainty of the previous evening was gone and I had a vague recollection of a struggle with a policeman and later a needle-jab to my arm.

"I spent six months in the asylum. My vision of a new dawn was dead, but my realisation of the futility of existence without it was still with me. All I wanted was to find some way to survive, to live a life that was halfway bearable. I didn't care what was true and what was not. I begged the doctors to brainwash me and make me back into a robot like all the others. They just increased my medication.

"Somehow I adjusted to my situation. I pushed my awareness of the true state of the world to the back of my mind and adopted a 'whatever gets you through the night' approach to living.

"The doctors considered me a great success when, upon leaving the hospital, I returned to my career as a painter, painting the same style of erotic nudes that had originally made my name.

"As long as I was looking at the nude body of a beautiful women, the pain within subsided. And somehow there was hope. Now when I looked at my models, I wasn't seeing the reflection of the moon on the water, I was seeing the moon itself. I realised that the very feel of the new dawn that I had envisioned on that night, was the feeling I got when I looked at a nude woman. A feeling of warmth and reassurance filled my heart at the sight of those soft white breasts. I wasn't a robot. The blood of life flowed through my veins, envigorating me, stiffening my cock. Yes, my cock was very much back in the picture. My brain was not convinced that there was hope, but in my cock I felt the throb of continuing life.

"My relationship with my models was much better than it had been when I started. But now I hardly ever fucked them. I knew that it was not them, but what their beauty symbolised, that would give me what I needed. Now that I needed so little from them, no more really than their presence, I grew far more tolerant of their shortcomings, and found that they were quite good company.

"Of course it was very lucky for me that what I came to think of as my therapy was also a good business. Once more my paintings sold."

"Wait a minute," interupted Vanessa. "You said that looking at these beautiful nude women made your cock stiff, but then you said that you hardly ever fucked them. So what were you doing? Were you fucking someone else? Were you just wanking off? What's the story?"

"Well, that's the strange thing. For a while I wasn't doing that much of either. I just loved the feeling of my cock sticking out hard in front of me. I was content most of the time to just let it do that. Of course, after a while it would go down again of its own accord, releasing a dribble of pre-cum in my pants. I almost felt like it was a compass pointing me in the right direction. 'I, the generator of life, can reconnect you with life,' it seemed to be saying.

"Of course, I had to ejaculate sometime. I had lots of wet dreams. These dreams gave form to the future my cock was pointing too. I was living in some future Eden where the seperation between individuals which found its most severe form in the robots I had first seen on that night in Central Park had entirely disappeared. The warmth and affection that we feel for others in the sweetest and tenderest moments of our lives were the casual life-blood that flowed through us as we lived there among the trees. The feeling of a beautiful naked woman's tender smile stiffening my cock was the everyday essence of this life without care. This paradise was definitely a sexy place to be, and yet the sexual activities that took place there, which gave physical expression to the all-encompassing love that bound together the individual bodies in a single entity, was totally lacking in the frenzied desperation which so often characterises sex today. In fact I sensed that for the others it was not even centred in the genitals but was an all-encompassing sensual experience. I knew that I would never be ready to live in such a world, but was being shown it in a state which I could relate to in my own state of arrested development.

"Thus my experience was with the women, and my way of experiencing it was through the stiffening and spurting of my cock. In fact I felt that these women of the future knew the pain of our existence and were easing it in me in the way that felt best to me. It was an experience of bliss beyond imagination. I would wander into the forest and when they would see me they would leave what they were doing and come to me smiling a warm smile of welcome. Their soft hands would stroke my body all over and their lips and tongues would lick me and suck me everywhere. The only thing I can relate it too is that forgotten moment after birth when we are first clasped to our mother's breast. But the love with which these women welcomed me to there world was a love that our species has not been capable of since the processes of civilization seperated us from our natural instincts. This was a love that would make the pain of a million years disappear in a minute. But it would only last the briefest second before I would awake to feel hot cum pouring over my belly."

"But it sounds as if things were going fine for you again," interrupted Vanessa. "So why did you need to run away to the island?"

"Things did go well for a while. Very well indeed. Gradually the whole of my life became eroticised. I had always found beautiful young women sexy, but gradually I found myself being attracted also to women who I would have previously considered too old or fat or ugly to be fanciable. It was as if my blinkers had been removed and I found that there was a world of beauty and eroticism around me the existence of which I had previously never suspected.

"I suppose you could say that it was Mrs. Travers, one of my rich clients, who introduced me to the world of female sexuality and thus brought about my second downfall."

To be continued...